Capture The FLAG
by TimelyUnwritten
Summary: When staff morale hits an all time low during FLAG's "off season," It's up to Reginald to make everyone see eye to eye again.
1. Chapter 1

**Capture The FLAG**

_Prologue_

**He was starting to get the impression that this was a very ****_bad_**** idea.**

"KITT, where are you?" he shouted into the Comm. Link. There was no response, as he had expected. His best partner; No, his greatest friend. His greatest friend would not come crashing through the walls to save him this time. No_, he _wasn't going to help him at all. The entire situation around him was quickly getting dangerously out of hand, and Michael was all on his own.

"KITT. _Please, _answer me!" he yelled again at his watch, backing quickly towards the door and away from the three guns pointed at him. There were no shooters, however- only a trio of laser-guided rifles pointed at his head and heart. He shoved the heavy metal door open and jumped as he heard them fire. Falling neatly into a pile on the muddy ground, Michael could clearly see the targeting system inside return to seeking him out, locked into sweeping motions on the floor of the enormous mobile home. Now sopping wet and coated in a thick layer of mud, Knight stood and began to scrape the viscous goo off his favorite leather jacket.

"Get him!" he heard KITT's voice ring out through the woods around the clearing as Bonnie and Devon emerged on either side of him through the trees. Both readied their pistols. Michael took off running, a small part of him wondering how he had gotten into such a mess. He darted out of the clearing and into a thicket of trees. "Don't let him get away," KITT sounded a bit less calm now, and yet, MIchael continued running, losing his voice in the trees. He stumbled over moss-covered tree roots every few feet. If there was one thing KITT could be, it was competitive, and that was something that Knight suddenly regretted teaching him. Right now, he was being chased, hunted down in the same way that the criminals he snuffed out had been. And once again his partner was on the winning side. The thought that his team was after _him_ both scared and amazed him. Then, he heard the first shot ring out.

**No, this was ****_definitely _****not a good idea.**

Bonnie slipped quite easily through the increasingly saturated forest, recalibrating her gun and keeping tabs on her boss as she went. She stopped, raising her gun as michael entered her sights, and fired for the second time. It struck the trees behind him as he ran past, and she growled. She wasn't good with guns, no, that normally fell to either Michael or Devon. Turning, the technician sprinted for the sleek black smart-car sitting atop the hill next to Devon's RV. She slowed, opening the door of the T-top before quickly shutting herself inside.

"We need to get to the next clearing. Now."

**This was quickly becoming one of the worst ideas ever.**

Devon reloaded, then fired once again at Michael's jumping form. The older man had caught up to him. Years of training with the RAF showed as each shot was quickly becoming harder and harder for Michael to dodge. He swung behind shriveled trees and through the underbrush as the pair circled each other in a small area of thinning greenery.

He stopped running and reloaded again frantically as the rain began to fall. Thunder and lightning began to roll across the darkening skies, but still, the englishman pushed forward, continuously attempting to make his mark. He reached into his suit pocket for another round, only to find that he had just used his last one. Gritting his teeth, Devon shoved the gun into the pocket and looked up to Michael, who was already making his escape. Devon made a mad dash for the Knight, already at a sprint to catch up.

**There was no way that this could be a ****_worse _****idea. **

Michael's feet pounded relentlessly against the cold, quickly softening ground as he ran, leaving Devon not too far behind him. His breath was ragged, sending misty clouds of warm air in front of his face. Michael grudgingly slowed to a stop for a moment to catch his breath, and to straighten the cuff of his leather jacket- torn at the seam in the fray with his boss. He paused for a moment, running his hand along the torn area. It was repairable, he knew that much at least. Knight chuckled lightly, briefly at himself- running from people who were once on his side, fretting over a tear in his favorite coat? He tensed the very second that he heard the twigs behind him snap.

He spun on his heels, eyeing the underbrush in front of him menacingly. Shoulders squared, forehead dripping with a mix of sweat and rain, he visually scanned every inch of the greenery before him. His heart was pounding in his ears, and his whole body ached from the constant running of the last three days. But he needed to get out, needed to get away.

**This was the worst idea ever.**

To the left of him, another series of cracking sounds. Michael's hand strayed to the holstered gun currently dangling on his hip- empty, although Devon might not realize it. He drew the pistol quietly just as the older man burst from the bushes behind him. He aimed the empty shell desperately at his boss.

"Hold it right there." he growled, stunning Devon into aiming his own empty weapon at Michael. The two of them stood for a moment, eyeing each other, _daring_ each other to make a move. Devon, being the more level-headed of the pair, spoke first.

"Michael," Devon spoke sternly, a genuinely hurt look in his eye, "It doesn't have to be this way-"

"Don't you tell me how it's gonna be," Michael snarled in return, effectively quieting the gentleman, "I'll tell _you_."

"Is that a threat..?" the older man quipped. Calmly, Devon readied the gun, "...Because I don't think you're in a place to make such a proclamation." This angered the younger man to the very core, and he, too, readied his pistol.

"No, _old man_," Michael snarled, tightening his grip on the weapon, forcing Devon back toward a thick clump of trees.

_ "_That's a _promise."_

Two shots rang out, and both weapons fell from their owners' hands.

**_Author's Note: _**_Hey, there! My name's Timely and I'm new to the fandom, so... please, don't kill me. This chapter is most likely **not** what you were expecting, and that's exactly the point. Don't worry, The beginning comes later... or something like that. _

**_DISCLAIMER:_**_ I don't own KNIGHT RIDER, the characters, or any of it's associated spinoffs. I'm only borrowing them (except for KARR. You aren't getting him back)._


	2. Chapter 2

**Capture The FLAG**

_Chapter One_

* * *

_Four days earlier..._

Devon Miles, director of the Foundation for Law and Government, thought his employees got along quite well. Much of their success was looked upon as a perfect blend of people from the four corners of the country, with the level-headed englishman leading the crew. He enjoyed the thought, too. But, really, there was no careful balance keeping the team together. It all just seemed to fall right into place when it was needed. Bonnie, Reginald, Michael especially...Devon laughed, and came to the conclusion that the three operatives under his command had rather uncanny tastes in life choices. Either that, or his luck was too good. He had to chuckle at that, too. 'Lucky' was a word that had fit Wilton more than it had him.

He sat back in the soft, worn leather chair and straightened his tie. Taking a sip from a mug of tea, he set it back on the large oak desk and stood, crossing to the window. From his office, he could see nearly all of the Knight mansion, including his favorite place; The main courtyard. He found himself standing in the very same place more often in Autumn, watching as the leaves in the fruit tree groves changed. They were currently giving off a splendid display of color that ranged from light green to a deep, earthy brown.

It was between two of these groves that he spotted his team, as well as KITT lounging lazily around, sharing a laugh in the cooling air. The early Autumn months were always slow for the Foundation, but the time was generally put to good use. Devon often used it to catch up on the paperwork that was so often of overlooked in their line of work. Updates were designed and installed to KITT and the Mobile Unit. Michael took a solid week of vacation, so long as a crisis didn't interrupt his fun. However, Michael's vacation was over more than a fortnight ago. Both the Knight 2000 and the Semi had been optimized and detailed (much to KITT's enjoyment). The paperwork was done.

And still, not even a single call.

The director sighed and slunk back over to the big leather chair behind the big oak desk. Taking another drink of hot tea, glared dejectedly at the phone beside his computer. He wouldn't wish harm on anyone, not now, not ever...

But if someone needed their help, they should bloody well _hurry up._

A quick glance up at the clock told him that it was almost time for lunch. Curiously, he glanced out the window again, still, his friends sat in the brisk air, laughing and joking amongst themselves. For a moment, he considered walking down there and telling them to get to work. But, work on _what? _There really wasn't anything to be done at the moment, other than keep each other company. Lunch time would soon start, and Devon had a feeling that the four would be out there through all of that, as well. While the englishman was not ungrateful for the precious peace that had fallen as of late, it was lonely in the office, and quite boring. Besides, they look so happy out there...

Freezing cold, but happy...

Oh, fine. Devon rose from his dark leather perch and lifted his suit coat from the rack. Smoothing the creases, he snatched his mug of hot tea from the big oak desk and slipped gently into the crisp jacket. He shifted the mug from one hand to the other, deciding wether he liked the weight of the thicker coat. Finally deciding to hold the hot leaf juice in his right hand, he said goodbye to intern and took to the stairs.

Knight manor was anything but small, and the Foundation took up all of one floor in the main building. Aside from a series of laboratories, the on-site clinic, and the library, the grounds, as a whole, were fairly empty, despite their appearance. Many of the rooms and smaller buildings were, in fact, outfitted for guests, dignitaries, employees, and the Foundation's clients, when necessary.

An elevator would have been nice, though.

Devon walked down the many steps leading to the grounds, taking a quick drink of still-steaming, earl grey tea to combat the chill. This Fall was cooler than usual- a biting cold seemed to freeze you to the very core. As he walked towards the grove, Miles realized he could see his breath. This amused him, for a moment.

Then he heard the angry shouts of his friends beyond the trees. He started, quickening his pace, but still balancing the cup of liquid warmth in his long, thin hands. With every step, he could hear the frantic voices of his comrades growing clearer, and he had to wonder just what had gone so horribly wrong in the time he'd left his big leather chair. At the sound of KITT's turbines firing, Devon quickened his pace through the perfectly manicured lawn. Sprinting to the green, he stopped at the edge...

...Just in time for a rather large sandwich to hit him square in the chest. Devon's mug fell from his hand as he jumped in surprise, spilling the carefully-preserved beverage into the cold soil. The yelling stopped as all four FLAG members looked soundlessly to their mayonnaise-coated leader. Michael, covered in chips and a good deal of grass, dropped the handful of walnuts he had been planning to toss at Bonnie. The technician, in turn, set her takeout cup full of soda gently on the ground, shaking Michael's previous volley from her hair and jacket. Reginald cowered further behind KITT; The two of them had been fled to the edge of the green to escape the airborne edibles.

Devon Miles was _not_ happy.

"What," he stammered, flustered by both the greasy sauce seeping through his new coat, and the sorry look of his team. "What on **Earth** is going on here?!"

The accusations came flying at him the moment he stopped talking. Michael said this, Michael said that. Bonnie retaliated, and threw the first potato chip. Reginald was more upset about the technician's aim, and his twelve-dollar sandwich's unfortunate victim than the rest of the ordeal. KITT refused to admit to having any part in the situation, much to the frustration of his human friends.

"Alright, that's enough!" Devon growled. All four of the squabbling operatives fell silent, forming a semi-circle of sorry glances up at the director's stern face. "I do not care...what caused the incident," he managed through gritted teeth, "And I do not _care _who is to blame..." Miles ran a hand across the front of his once-clean suit coat. "However, _this_ will _not_ happen again. Do I make myself clear?"

A collection of agreements and apologies rang out from the group, and he spun on his heels. Devon scraped a layer of lettuce from the suit, wondering hopefully if there was still a spare set of clothes for him in his office. As he trudged away, he could hear the quiet grumblings of Michael and Bonnie, and also the quickening footsteps of one too-cheerful RC.

"Yo, boss, wait up!"

* * *

**_Author's Note: _**_This chapter would NOT stop veering off into plotless, british-y Devon ramblings. I can't help it though, he's just too fun to write. :) On the plus side, you can expect updates on a regular basis, as I am currently waiting for Tumblr to give me my life back (follow me jumpinmykarr, guys)._

**_DISCLAIMER:_**_ I don't own KNIGHT RIDER, the characters, or any of it's associated spinoffs. I'm only borrowing them (except for KARR. You aren't getting him back)._


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